Final Reward
by Valandar
Summary: Harry Potter is now nearly a century and a half old, and his own entry into eternity has come. But what is Headmaster Weasley saying about a spell to reward the virtuous? Please R


Nearly one hundred and twenty years ago, Harry Potter squared off against the Dark Lord known as Voldemort. Now, he lay in his bed, surrounded by his family and friends, and prepared himself to join those he had lost in his past.

As he did, he thought of them. His parents, of course, would be there - he could finally meet them in person so to speak, and not as images in a mirror, or shades from a wand. Sirius, too, would be there, probably just waiting for him so they could prank the daylights out of the afterlife.

As he thought of Sirius, a hand rested on his own. He looked at it, slightly confused, and followed it up to its owner. The hand belonged to his grandson, currently the Chief of Magical Law Enforcement, Sirius Remus Potter. "Dad... he made it. He'll be in here in a moment."

Ron. His grandson could only be talking about Ron. Both of them were nearly a hundred and forty years old, and were the last ones left who had been there at that fateful battle. Hermione had passed on twenty years ago, and Ginny... Ginny had died not five years ago.

With time had come maturity for Ron, and eventually wisdom. Both he and Harry had been urged into politics, but both declined, and devoted their lives (after brief stints as professional Quidditch players) to the school they both loved, Hogwarts. Harry had been DADA Teacher and head of Gryffindor House for nearly ninety years until he retired at Ginny's death, while Ron, surprisingly, took over the Charms position and the role as Deputy Headmaster. On Minerva McGonegall's death thirty years after they both started their positions, he took over as Headmaster, a role the once red-haired old wizard took to with a passion. Hermione, who had taken over Transfiguration, was exceedingly proud of her husband.

Thinking about Ron as headmaster guided his own thoughts around to another person he knew for only a fraction of his life, scarcely six years, but who had come to mean more to him than almost anyone else - Albus Dumbledore. Harry knew a secret about Dumbledore, you see. Immediately after the final battle, Harry had been in a coma for quite some time. His mission complete, he decided, in his half-aware state, that he could finally rest.

But the spirit of Dumbledore drew him into the dream realm, and confronted him. "I did not give my life for you so that you could destroy Riddle," he gently chided, "but so that you could live, as a happy and healthy young man in a world without fear. Please, Harry, you must live. We will be together eventually, and the dead are very patient."

He never told a soul that he had seen Dumbledore while in his come - that is, except for Ginny. The two had no secrets from each other, and their relationship had become one of the great love stories of the age. Together they had four children, thirteen grandchildren, thirty one great grandchildren, and at last count, Harry chuckled to himself, seven great-great grandchildren. The boy who had no real family as a child, except the Dursleys (who didn't count), had provided for himself a family filled with love, hope, and more than a few pranks.

He was distracted from his reverie by the sound of the door opening. He looked up, and felt a smile drag its way across his tired face. A white haired man in a bright orange set of robes was slowly walking in, using a heavy oaken staff to support himself. He had grown his hair and beard in the long fashion Dumbledore preferred, though Harry himself was clean shaven and his hair relatively neatly trimmed; it had settled down to behave once he had finally gone grey. "Ron... old friend..." he gasped out.

"Settle down, Harry, settle down." With a gesture, Ron summoned a high wingback chair, and eased himself down into it. Ron had become an extremely powerful wizard with age, though until his recent infirmity Harry had been even stronger. "We have much to discuss tonight. And a decision must be made."

Not wanting to waste the effort to speak, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yes," said Ron, "a decision. One that must be made... in private."

The various children, grandchildren, and so on looked at their uncle, and agreed. They made their goodbyes to both of them, though more than one turned to Harry and warned him that he better not kick off until they got back. The thought that they could keep their humor, knowing it was just as likely that this was the last time they would see him alive, filled his heart with an indescribable warmth.

"What's... the... decision?" wheezed the Chosen One.

Ron glanced at the door, and waved his hands a few times. Satisfied, he turned back. "Harry... Justin has found a most interesting spell recently. You remember, Justin Longbottom, grandson of Luna and Neville."

Harry nodded, and his heart both dipped and lightened. Two more old friends, lost to time, that he would soon be seeing again.

"Well," continued Ron, "I cannot tell you exactly what it does, except to say it rewards the virtuous, and sends them to where they are needed. But they are never the same again."

This confused Harry. Why was his old friend telling him this?

Ron laid his staff down on the floor, and walked over to Harry's bedside, where he knelt, and took the other man's wizened hand. "Harry... if you want me to, I will cast this spell upon you." His voice was grave, and he continued. "It incorporates nearly every branch of magic save potions, and if anyone deserves the reward of the spell, then it is you. However, it may only be cast once every century, no matter by who... and then, only at the moment of the recipient's demise."

The dying wizard struggled to understand. Reward the virtuous? Wouldn't reuniting with those he loved be reward enough? Still... he looked Ron in the eyes. The other man seemed to almost plead with him, and more than a century and a quarter of friendship helped him understand. He tried to speak, but his strength began to fade rapidly, so he only nodded.

As Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Man Who Conquered, Chosen One and Champion of the Wizarding World let his eyes close one final time, he thought he heard chanting. But he didn't care, when the darkness claimed him, there would be light. And there would be Ginny.

zzzzzzz

Heat and warmth, comforting warmth, woke him. There was fire, but it did not burn, and he looked around. He was in a pile of ashes, at the heart of what had once been his bed.

"Aww, you're cute, Harry!" came a voice to his left. He looked over - and there was Ginny, at her most beautiful, as she had been at age twenty, after the birth of their first daughter. "I've missed you, Harry," she continued, and she reached down to stroke him with a ghostly hand.

It was then that he realized he was much smaller than he had been. He was about the size of a newborn swan, in fact. He looked at himself, and saw that he had wrinkled grey skin, and... wings? There were no feathers yet, but they were definitely wings. "Squilllirrirrip?" He tried to speak, but no words came out, only - phoenix song?

"That is true, Harry," came a voice behind him. It was an aged voice, but one filled with life and joy. He turned, and saw the ghostly form of Albus Dumbledore, along with Hagrid, Professor McGonegall, and the other teachers he had known. "You have been changed by the spell Headmaster Weasley and young Mister Longbottom discovered. You are now a phoenix."

The thought brought tears to the young bird's eyes. He was immortal, now! Phoenixes can't die! So... he would not ever be truly reunited with those he loved. As feathers slowly started to sprout on his form, which itched somewhat, Harry let out a low, mournful cry.

"Not quite, kiddo," came yet another voice. Looking up, he saw Sirius Black, flanked by Remus Lupin - and his parents. Harry lunged out of the pile of ashes with a cry, and trued to hug and hold those beloved specters, to no avail.

"Harry, son, it's all right," came Lily Potter's comforting voice. "You will have plenty of occasions to visit with us. Our spirits will be with you forever, and you will be able to spend hours and hours with us on Burning Days."

'But I wanted to spend eternity with you all!' he cried in his mind, while letting out a hollow trill.

"You will," came another voice. He looked, and it was Hermione. With her were the rest of his friends from Hogwarts - Luna, Neville, Dean, Cho, and even Cedric. "You won't be a phoenix forever. Just long enough to spend many years with a certain individual." She had a triumphant smile, just like she did when she knew something you didn't.

"That's right," came a final voice, one he hadn't expected. Almost shaking, he didn't want to look, but he did. It was Ron, as he was in his twenties, at the height of his Quidditch career. He was flanked by the Weasleys, a ghostly mass of red hair and open hearts. Ginny's spirit stayed beside him, but she looked up smiling at her family.

'But... you...' Harry thought, choking back a muted squawk.

"I did it for you, mate," admitted Ron. "I knew the spell took a lot of power, and was likely to kill me, but you were worth it. And so was... well, you'll see."

This was all too much for Harry to take. Curling up back on the pile of ashes, which was slowly fading away, he began to cry. As he did, the family came back into the room, to find the late headmaster Ronald Weasley on the floor, and a magnificent phoenix where their patriarch had been, who vanished in a burst of flame.

zzzzzzz

At some point, Harry had fallen asleep. He would have thought the previous night had been a dream, except that he had now filled out with a beautiful set of plumage. Red and gold, they shimmered in the light, and he had to accept the fact that he was, for a time at least, a phoenix.

But where was he? The last thing he remembered, he had been in his bed, in a pile of ash. Now... well, if he wasn't mistaken, it looked like he was on the Astronomy Tower, back at Hogwarts.

Looking out over the grounds, he was shocked to see that the lay of the land was different. The various dips and valleys caused by the cataclysmic battle weren't there, and neither was the familiar silhouette of Hagrid's hut. Slightly confused, he stretched his wings, and without even thinking about it, began to fly.

As the wind rushed in his face, a long-forgotten exhiliration filled him. Flight! It was possibly the greatest thing the Wizarding World had given him, besides his Ginny, and here he was, flying without a broom! He swooped over the gathered students, and noticed the clothing under their outer robes was of a style more than two centuries out of date. He did not notice that they were all pointing at him, and whispering to each other, because he was trying to figure out this conundrum.

Eventually, he landed on a log next to the lake, to think. He wasn't stupid, he knew, he just wasn't quite as smart as Hermione. But as he tried to piece the puzzle together, a single word broke his reverie.

"Cor..." It was a tall, lanky, auburn haired young man in Gryffindor robes. He had bright blue eyes and a rather large nose, and it was right now quite crooked and set in a plaster, as he had obviously recently broken it. Harry turned to regard the young man, estimating him to be a sixth or seventh year, when he felt something. Some kind of connection made itself known between the two.

Harry decided he liked the boy, and trilled at him. The boy smiled, and said, "Who'd 'ave thout there'd be a beenix... fb... stubid node, cab't day beenix..." he finished with a frown.

Deciding to help the boy, Harry fluttered up, and landed on his shoulder. Cocking his head to one side, he thought about the saddest moment of his life - the day Ginny had died. Tears flowed, and dripped down his beak, onto the boy's nose.

It healed, but did not straighten - it had obviously been broken at least once before. The boy's eyes widened, and he repeated his earlier statement as the plaster fell off. "Cor..."

Harry laughed, which came out as a musical trill. He saw the boy's back straighten, and his eyes light up. "Do you have a name?" the boy asked. "What is it?"

'Harry. My name's Harry,' he tried to say. Of course, it came out as phoenix song.

The boy blushed. "Silly me. Of course your ruddy name is in the phoenix tongue. Oh, and where are my manners." He sat down on the log, and Harry hopped off his shoulder to join him

The boy did a humorously exxagerated bow, saying, "My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Head Boy of the Gryffindor Class of Eighteen Hundred and Fifty-Seven."

Harry nearly fell off the log. Dumbledore, this boy was Dumbledore as a young man! He would get to spend more than the next century with him! His love for the old man surged forward, and he hopped back on the boy's shoulder and lay against his head.

"Well, um, looks like you like me. But I can't keep calling you 'Phoenix' or 'Bird' or something if you decide to stick around. Well, today is Guy Fawkes' day... so how about I call you Fawkes?"

Nodding, Harry opened his beak, and let loose with the purest phoenix call that the Wizarding World would ever know.

z

zz

End Of Story

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A/N: I don't remember where the inspiration for THIS one came from... but I had to write it. 


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